I call upon the goddess, deathly pale,
to guide me through the forests that I’ve dared,
and give me strength to fight against the weird
who draws me from myself, into the void.
Yet, in seeking help, I know full well,
in time her shape will change, consuming me,
and, though her gift of birch to beat the fiend
will make me clean, I too will start to fade
by autumn’s equinox, when she-wolves howl
and trees withdraw their precious chlorophyll.
Though death would seem to gain ascendency,
defeating hope with slowly waning light,
the goddess quickens life in dormant seeds
implanted during Spring – once more to bleed.